Almost two years have passed since that day. I switched to the last course and returned to full time to give more time to study and diploma. I quit my job and now almost all my time was devoted to studies and writing coursework and laboratory. One September day, I was summoned to the dean's office and offered a practice in a nearby city, in a large art museum. I happily agreed, it was a good chance to gain experience, and besides, I wanted to change the situation.

I quickly packed up and after two days shook myself on the lower shelf of the train in the compartment car. Beauty! I love trains. I can stare at the window for hours, and the identical landscapes of our middle zone are by no means boring me, the greens are pleasing to the eye, and the white trunks of numerous birch trees evoke some sublime and even patriotic thoughts. It was not long to go, one night. Early in the morning the train arrived at its destination, and I hurried to the station taxi stand. Eh, Sasha with his liberal tariffs would be here - I thought, pulling five hundred rubles out of my wallet and giving them to the taxi driver.

The hotel, of course, was not very impressive, resembled the Soviet building in the pioneer camp. Simple room with brown flowered wallpaper, blue curtains, single bed. Thank God, there is a fridge. And even a small TV! Come on, acceptable. The main thing is that there was a separate bathroom, it is for me fundamentally. I would never go to a common shower.

Already at noon, I was standing in front of the iron lattice gates of a large mansion, painted with yellow plaster. This was the museum in which I had to practice for three weeks. Climbing up the marble steps, covered with burgundy carpet without a single rubbing, I noted that a lot of money was being invested here. It pleased me, since in most non-metropolitan and non-St. Petersburg museums poverty reigns, the same applies to many theaters. Finding the door with the words "Administration", I knocked and entered. The receptionist was a secretary - a woman of about fifty with a pleasant smiling face.

- Good afternoon, my name is Sophia Mikhalchuk, I have to do an internship at your museum.

- Yes, yes, sit down. - A woman was messed up in the papers on the table, and, having fished out a thin folder, she introduced herself:

- I am Tamara Sergeyevna, now let's see where you are attached. So, um, ... Oh, here, Mikhalchuk. Fine, found.

I looked around. From the reception it was possible to get at least two rooms. On the door of one of them hung a sign: "Lev Semenovich Borodin, director." There was no sign on the other door. Later I found out that this is a toilet.

- So, Sophia, sign here, and go to the second floor, find Anna Alexandrovna there, this is your curator. She is a guide, you will conduct excursions with her.

Tours! Great! I imagined that I would be entrusted with small-scale restoration or storage of exhibits, but the guide is great. Very interesting and not so tedious. In addition, the museum is quite a boring job, and to conduct tours - it means to constantly communicate with people. I was delighted and hurried to the second floor.

The museum was impressive. Once it was the estate of one of the local aristocrats, and now the luxurious mansions turned into a well-kept and rich museum. Here was a painting, and graphics, sculpture and objects of expensive utensils. In some places there were racks with jewelry. Impressed, I did not notice how a tall, thin woman appeared next to me.

- Are you Sonia?

Starting, I looked at her. Blond hair is collected in a liquid tail, not a single gram of cosmetics, sophisticated features and a purple suit. She looked about forty-five years old.

- Yes, are you Anna Alexandrovna? - I clarified.

- Yes, yes, come with me, I will give you literature, now I have a little time, schoolchildren are about to come on a tour, and then another group.You still read about our museum, and then come. Watch my work, learn a lot of interesting things. - She smiled, and I answered her the same. I liked her, for some reason I thought that we would be friends with her.

She led me to the archive. Leaving me alone with a thick book on the history of the museum, flavored with color illustrations, she withdrew. An hour or more had passed when I shut the book. In general, the standard story. Like many museums in our country. When I went out into the corridor, I met Anna Alexandrovna there, she beckoned me with her hand, and I moved behind her. We went to the big hall with the works of Russian artists. Schoolchildren of about twelve years have already gathered there. So, the tour began. My mentor told about each picture, about the history of her writing, about the biography of one or another artist. In general, everything is as usual. After listening to her, I decided that I could handle it; a lot of her story was known to me, so I wasn’t particularly worried about my practice.

Finally, the tour ended, and the children separated. Anna Alexandrovna offered to drink tea, and I agreed. Over a cup of flavored drink is easier to communicate.

- Well, how do you like our museum? She asked proudly, sipping from a cup.

- To be honest, without flattery, I am shocked. It is rare to find such a well-kept and rich museum. I drew attention to the new flooring, expensive curtains and fresh windows. One feels that the museum has good support.

- This is all our Lev Semenovich. Our director. He treats the museum like his own child. If all cultural institutions were headed by such people as our Lev Semenovich, then Russia would have experienced a cultural revival.

- Yes, you are probably right. - I agreed, biting off cookies.

- You will certainly meet him, and realize that he is a true fan of his work.

- And when will this happen? - I asked.

- In the coming days, Sonya. Soon. You arrived early, other students will arrive in a couple of days, Lev Semenovich will give you lectures. He, by the way, is a doctor of science. So you will be very interesting. Anyway, it's just nice to talk with him. So soon, Sonya, you will see for yourself.

As promised Anna Alexandrovna, a couple of days the museum was flooded with students and seemed to come to life. Now life was in full swing here, introduced by future art historians, cultural scientists and art restorers. The promised lectures were to begin after practice, at five o'clock. To be honest, I waited for them, since I was impatient to see such an avid fan of my work. All the students had already gathered in a small room, but Lev Semenovich was not there yet. However, he was not late, there were still ten minutes left, and I was interested in studying the postcards that Anna Alexandrovna gave me to look at. Suddenly a low, raised voice boomed:

- I salute you. My name is Lev Semenovich Borodin, and I will read you a lot of interesting things for a whole week.

I looked up and saw a tall, broad-shouldered man near a big dark green board. He wrote his name on the board. Turning to us, he pinned me with piercing blue eyes to the bench. Why, I know this man! It was he who sent me the flowers after a chance meeting at the theater. Incredibly, it was indeed him. His finger-rimmed fingers of big hands, his dark-silver hair brushed back, his voice and, of course, his look.

Startled, I looked at him, not noticing the ironic grin of my neighbors. He, of course, noticed this and addressed me:

- Young lady, your last name?

- Mikhalchuk ... - I bleated.

- Beautiful Ukrainian surname. Mikhalchuk, tell me please, you are not interested in my story?

I hesitated and did not know what to say. Finally, under his expectant gaze, I squeezed out of myself that I was interested, then he replied

“In that case, please be careful and record the lecture as the others do.”

God, he scolded me like a seven-year-old child in front of all the trainees! I was completely taken aback and buried in a notebook.The foul sense of humiliation burned the brain, and I noticed with horror ...